“Just one?” Candy didn’t seem phased.
Hatcher nodded. “The leader of the soldiers. He was a captain.” He leaned back in his chair and when Candy saw his eyes, she sobered. “We got sent to Fort Collins to collect some kind of research that the military was doing before the world went to Hell.” He swallowed hard and turned his gaze to the floor. “He sacrificed himself so that the rest of us could get away.”
“Oh, Danny…I’m so sorry.” Vicky reached out and took his hand.
“You’d think it wouldn’t be that big a deal. I barely knew the guy.” Hatcher set his coffee cup down and really wished he had another bottle to open. “It’s not like we haven’t all lost people, right? But then on the way back here I find out that Bren didn’t survive some kind of infection.”
He heard the two women gasp. “But she seemed so healthy.” Vicky said.
“What kind of infection takes down someone who’s immune to the virus?” Candy asked.
Hatcher could only shake his head. “If I’d known how cold-blooded the CDC people were, I’d have never suggested taking them there.” He glanced up and Candy knew what he was about to say. “She’s dead because I insisted they go.”
“No!” Candy slammed her hand on the desk top. “You are not going to blame yourself for this. Both of them would have been Zulu snacks if we hadn’t helped them.”
Hatcher nodded. “But we did and they both survived us.” He stared at her and his eyes were resolute. “Until I forced them to go to the CDC.”
Vicky stood and shook her finger at him. “This isn’t on you, Danny.”
He stood and dropped the bottle into the trash can. “Yes, it is.” He stood tall and squared his shoulders. “It is on me. But that’s the cost of being a leader.” He stepped out from behind his desk and opened the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find a hot shower and some clean clothes. I smell like one of the Zulus.”
The pair watched him walk out and pull the door shut behind him. Candy looked to Vicky and shrugged. “At least he made it home unscathed.”
Vicky raised a brow. “Did he?”
Simon could still feel the effects of the alcohol and had to shake his head to clear his vision. He could smell the booze seeping out of his pores and he really wished he could puke again. He knew it would just be coffee and stomach acid, but somehow he knew he would feel better.
He waited while the rest of the men armed themselves and mounted their bikes. He had heard the chopper blades slow their rhythmic beating and then increase again. He assumed that it either dropped somebody off or picked somebody up again, because they didn’t stay low for long.
He cursed himself silently for not having snipers set up on the perimeter who could have taken shots at the craft. They might not have been able to bring it down, but perhaps they could have crippled the craft. Maybe he could find out for sure where they landed, who they were carrying, or what they were doing in his backyard.
“Let’s move it, you sons of bitches!” He revved the engine on his Harley and kicked it into gear. He pulled up to one of his lieutenants and barked, “They can catch up. Whoever’s ready now, follow me!”
He throttled up and pulled away from the camp, a dozen motorcycles pulling out behind him. He drove in the direction the chopper had been spotted approaching and rode full speed when the roads were straight enough to allow it.
Simon slowed as he came to a larger intersection and tried to get his bearings. “It looked like they were dropping down somewhere over there.” He pointed and his lieutenant nodded.
“I can send a half-dozen men that direction and we can go straight to see if we can spot anything?”
Simon considered splitting his forces up so soon but nodded. “Do it.”
While his man barked orders, Simon considered his options. If he could find either the people or the location the chopper had gone, he could always rally back at the camp and gather his men for an assault. First, he had to identify the target.
He watched as the men turned left and headed away from them. Four more men were catching up to the group from the camp when he kicked his bike into gear again and crossed the intersection.
All he needed was a sign. Something that could point him in the right direction.
Savage rode toward the camp and could see dust rising in the air in the distance. He knew that the members were on the move and clenched his jaw.
He goosed the bike and tried to close the distance. He slowed the bike for the next intersection, and was actually surprised to see a handful of riders heading toward him. He could just see another handful pulling through the intersection and going due west. He pulled his bike out slowly and watched as the men slowed their machines.
Savage held a hand up to them as they approached.
“Where the hell did you run off to?”
Savage raised a brow at the man and gave him a stern look. “Do I answer to you?”
The man seemed to deflate slightly. “Well…no. But Simon wasn’t happy that you just took off.”
“Well, he should be fucking happy that I did. I saw that chopper again.”
The men seemed to perk up. “Where is it?”
Savage shook his head. “It took off again.” He pointed behind him. “They landed about two blocks that way, picked up somebody in a camo uniform, then took off again.”
The lead man pulled his radio and tried to raise Simon. He called repeatedly, but
